


(how I wish that I was) lionhearted

by liveyourtemptation



Series: your ferocious tenderness [2]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: M/M, hartley is a mess, lots of pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 16:57:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10858212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liveyourtemptation/pseuds/liveyourtemptation
Summary: Hartley knows how repression works. The trick is not to admit anything to yourself because once you've done that there is no going back. After that the only thing you can do is hold on for the ride and pray your lying skills are up to par.That is why Hartley tries his hardest not to admit to himself that he is in love with Cisco. Again.





	(how I wish that I was) lionhearted

**Author's Note:**

> again. unofficial sequel to inferno but can be read on its own. there is a mention of the terrorist attack in paris but nothing explicit.

Hartley knows how repression works. The trick is not to admit anything to yourself because once you've done that there is no going back. After that the only thing you can do is hold on for the ride and pray your lying skills are up to par.

 

That is why Hartley tries his hardest not to admit to himself that he is in love with Cisco. Again.

 

Most of the time it's easy, when he is halfway across the globe and working his ass off. But on some lonely nights it's harder or when he comes back to Central City and has to call Cisco because he would get mad if Hartley didn't stop by. He inevitably ends up at the Ramon/Wells household every time even though he promised himself that this time it wouldn't happen, this time he would say no to them, make the right choice for one fucking time in his life. But he is weak and likes their attention no matter how hard it is sometimes to look at Cisco and Harrison together.

 

It's been three years since the research study that started all this, that brought them back together again and it feels like it has been ages and like no time has passed at all at the same time. Hartley sits in the cab Harrison called him, on the way to the airport once again. He would have trouble piecing together what he has actually done in those three years. He worked, most of the time in Bangkok but more or less all over, and he received an award for a research study but when he looks back at those three years it feels like it's been mostly him missing Cisco at different places.

 

He ignores the attempts of the taxi driver to make conversation and looks out of the window. His whole body is still aching from when Harrison had fucked him last night, fast and ruthless, the way Cisco never does because he is just too fucking nice. If anyone would ever ask him what is going on between the three of them Hartley would probably not even know what to say. He still has no clue why Cisco and Harrison let him into their bed like this. He definitely never asked for it, at least not out loud. He just said yes once, in a weak moment, when they asked and then kept taking what they were willing to give to him. It's pathetic, it really is. Sometimes he thinks he only goes to them because he is not capable of building something of his own, of moving on and that he doesn't know what he is going to do when they'll shut him out again. And they will, of course they will. Hartley can tell they are going for the long run, has known it for years, ten year interruption or not. This thing with Hartley is just that, a thing, temporary, midlife-crisis, a passing fancy, whatever. There is no point in kidding himself. They might enjoy fucking around with him right now but that will be over soon enough.

 

On the plane he falls asleep instantly and wakes up four hours later feeling tense and tightly wound. He has a window seat and shoves the blinds up even though the guy next to him is sleeping as well. Outside the sun is blazing and Hartley presses his face against the window in time to see the plane pass from the continent to the ocean. As he watches the pattern of the waves thousand of miles beneath him Hartley struggles to breathe.

 

He spends a week in New Delhi, meeting people and preparing the next stage of his new study. When he lands it's still light. Hartley hates the never ending day of this flight, time stretching on as if having to leave isn't bad enough already. In the hotel he falls down on the bed and wakes up a few hours later, not sure where or who he is. He digs through his suitcase, looking for a change of clothes, and finds a photo, tucked between his notebooks. It's of Hartley with Cisco and Harrison at one of Caitlin's summer parties she likes to host since she turned into the cliche rich married woman no one dares accuse her of being. They are standing on the patio in Caitlin's garden, having a conversation. Cisco is leaning against Hartley and it isn't visible on the photo but Hartley remembers that he had his hand curled tightly around Hartley's arm. They are both looking at Harrison who is talking animatedly. On the back there are few words in Cisco's handwriting.

 

_A reminder so you always find your way back home._

 

Hartley has to close his eyes and just breathe for a moment. Of course Cisco hid this in his luggage. He knows Hartley well enough to know that he would have rather hacked his own hand off than accept this gift. This is more than just a photo. It's an invitation and Hartley isn't sure if Cisco is aware how much he promises him when he says stuff like this. Cisco throws around the word home like he's got enough of it for everyone. And maybe he does, maybe there is place for the whole world in Cisco Ramon's big heart.

 

Hartley puts the photo away, hides it in the back of his suitcase where he doesn't have to look at it, doesn't have to think about how much he might mean to Cisco, how much he could get from Cisco if he could get up the courage to ask because those thoughts come with a bitter taste in his mouth. A taste that tells him that he is edging himself between Cisco and Harrison, that he is destroying the good thing they have, that he is a homewrecking asshole who doesn't know when to back off. Instead he showers and thinks about the first rule of repression and thinks that he has already lost this game.

 

After New Delhi he flies to Paris because he hates himself apparently and always forgets how much jet lag fucks him up. He's been up for over twenty-four hours but he can't sleep so he walks along the Seine that is illuminated by the orange glow of the street lamps. He is supposed to meet someone in the morning but it wouldn't be the first meeting Hartley attended while being barely functional. He knows he shouldn't do this to himself, that he has to be kinder to his body or it's going to fuck him over massively but he can't bring himself to care. Paris is all old buildings and crowded metro stations and he loves Europe, he really does, but he misses the open sky and he misses his house in Central City with it's book shelves and high ceilings.

 

The restaurants along the Seine are crowded, it's almost summer now and the French have the habit to eat late, everyone sitting outside on the boardwalks. Hartley watches them, talking fast and loud, laughing freely, like there is no other place they'd rather be right now.

 

He almost calls Cisco, not even sure what he would say, if he should complain about Cisco sneaking emotional traps in his luggage or say something honest for once. He almost calls Harrison to complain about Cisco but they both had to promise Harrison to stop using him as the middle man for their problems with each other. So he calls neither even though Hartley thinks that he'd really like to hear Harrison's voice right now, it's calming and reassuring effect on Hartley another thing he is trying hard not to admit to himself. Instead he goes to his hotel room and jerks off in the shower, thinking about the way Cisco sounds when Hartley got his fingers inside him.

 

The next three weeks go by in the blink of an eye. Hartley sits down to work and when he looks up again he has an invitation to some fancy party where he is supposed to meet some people who are interested in his work. He is still in Paris, his mouth slowly getting used to forming the words of this language again, and he gets into his suit without thinking about how Cisco and Harrison had peeled him out of it on their first night together. Looking back Hartley is still uncomfortably surprised about how confident they both were that they could just take Hartley like that, it makes him think that he must have been broadcasting his desperation pretty damn obviously.

 

He goes to the event and talks to the people he is supposed to talk to and acts like he is normal, like he fits in here with all these intelligent, rich people. It's not that he isn't both of those things to some degree but he knows that he doesn't belong here anyway, that he is just an imposter faking his way through these circles to get the money he needs to work. There is one guy, French and broad-shouldered, who acts like he knows Hartley and maybe Hartley had too much champagne already because he lets himself go, lets the guy sweet-talk him because, fuck, French is a goddamn sexy language, and lets him pull him through a door into an unlit corridor. Hartley gets on his knees like a good boy, because he knows what is expected of him and he tells himself that he wants this, that it's time to replace Cisco's taste in his mouth.

 

Later he stands at the Seine again and feels like throwing up, doesn't know if it is the alcohol or the taste of the guy on his tongue or that he longs for Cisco so much it twists and burns inside of him.

 

After that disaster Hartley decides it's time to escape to safer realms, which means Bangkok where he got his own place and enough work to keep him occupied. When he opens the door to his dark and empty apartment he feels a mix of contentment and the sudden urgent need to get hammered. He fills himself a bath, gets drunk on the last rests of gin he finds in one of the kitchen cabinets and congratulates himself on never getting hooked on any harder drugs because then he would probably be fucking dead by now.

 

When he wakes up the next morning he feels like hell but it's okay because as he found out much earlier in his life: you can't feel hungover and heartbroken at the same time.

 

They don't keep in touch, usually, when Hartley is traveling. He knows it's not because they don't want to hear from him but because they know how he gets sucked into work and forgets the world around him. So he is surprised when his phone rings and it's Harrison's number. He feels sick and his thoughts take a sudden dark turn. He picks up.

 

“Hartley, are you okay?” Harrison's voice is distant and so damn concerned Hartley aches a little.

 

“Well, I would be more okay if you'd let me wallow in my hangover in peace,” Hartley answers and kicks his feet up on the couch.

 

“Oh, thank god,” Harrison says and Hartley hears him say to someone else, “He's okay, he's good.”

 

“What's going on?” Hartley asks, and even through the haze that clouds his mind he realizes that something is wrong.

 

“You said you had to go to Paris,” Harrison says and he sounds more unnerved than Hartley thought possible. “We weren't sure if you're still there.”

 

“I'm in Bangkok since yesterday,” Hartley says. “Why? Did something happen?”

 

“Did something-? Turn on the TV, Hartley.” Harrison says.

 

Hartley does, switches to CNN. His blood freezes. Distantly he hears noises over the phone and then there is Cisco's voice and fuck, he sounds like he is crying, and he is talking too fast for Hartley to keep up, he is still staring at the screen, at the images of running people in the streets and covered corpses, and shit, he walked past there just last week.

 

“Hartley,” Cisco is saying, “I thought- I thought something happened- I don't know what I would do- Oh god, Hartley.”

 

“Hey, calm down,” Hartley hears himself say. “I'm fine. I'm in Bangkok, everything is alright.” And he keeps thinking, fuck, this can't be real, this can't be happening. He wants to make a joke, wants to make Cisco feel better but he doesn't feel so good himself right now. He realizes he is shaking, and he wishes he could be there with Cisco, to hold him, tell him everything is alright in person but he can't and all he can think is, what if I had died. What if I had died without having told him that I love him.

 

Then Harrison is back on the line and he asks Hartley all these questions, if there is someone who can look after him; but Hartley wasn't even there when it happened. He's good, he is fine, he is alive and all those other people aren't. He promises to come back soon and hangs up still staring at the news coverage. He keeps lying on the couch for the rest of the day, staring at the TV where everyone is talking each other into a panic that Hartley feels rise up in his throat until it chokes him.

 

He goes to work the next day feeling like he is sleepwalking, his thoughts stuck on the pictures of the attack and the sounds of Cisco crying. He comes home late at night after getting absolutely nothing done and he turns over his suitcase until he finds the photograph. He sits down at the kitchen table and looks at it. He looks and looks and looks, like it can tell him what he should do. He knows what he wants to do, he wants to book the next plane to Central City but he's got commitments here in Bangkok, he won't be able to leave for at least another month. Of course he could say fuck it all and just go. Maybe that's what he should do, rush over the Pacific so he can tell Cisco everything that is weighing so heavily on his chest.

 

But what would the point of that be? That Cisco could tell him that he is sorry, but that it is too much for him, that he didn't sign up for that, that Hartley is crazy for even thinking that this is anything more than fucking around.

 

So he stays in Bangkok. Works more than he sleeps. He leaves the photo on his kitchen table, he hardly eats there anyway, it's not a piece of furniture he is really going to miss when he has to avoid it from now on.

 

It takes him over a month until he gets the chance to fly to Central City. He's in a bar somewhere downtown and he knows he should have called Cisco, should have gone straight from the airport to their place, but Hartley hasn't because he's weak and scared of what he might do or say, isn't sure if he could let Cisco fuck him tonight without slipping up and ruining everything.

 

So he's in some bar, getting drunk and damning his luck when he sees Caitlin and Ronnie walk towards him. They are coming from the back of the bar, apparently about to leave and Hartley tries to disappear into his beer glass.

 

“Oh Hartley,” Caitlin says, all sweet and pretty and surprised. “I didn't know you are here.”

 

Hartley makes a sound that could mean anything and hopes she goes away. He likes her well enough but tonight he is not in the mood for small talk. Luckily she seems to understand and she pulls Ronnie away with some words of goodbye.

 

Somewhere around the time Hartley upgrades from beer to Long Island Tea a guy sits down next to him. Hartley has the bad feeling that he should know him from somewhere, maybe school or university but the guy doesn't say anything about their possible past, opts instead for straight up flirting and Hartley is really impressed that the he had the courage, last time he checked this is not a gay bar, but maybe Hartley is just so obvious or the guy is bold, and after his second Long Island Tea Hartley flirts back.

 

He's way past drunk and about to leave with that guy, shit, he doesn't even know his names, but he hardly cares at this point, when he hears his name.

 

“Hartley?”

 

He turns around and there is Cisco, looking angry and so goddamn beautiful it takes Hartley's breath away. The guy turns to Hartley with a confused look, hand on his back, they were on their way to the door.

 

“Do you know him?”

 

Hartley can't say anything, can only stare at Cisco.

 

“Back off,” Cisco says, and he sounds so furious, like he is going to bring down the thunder of god on the guy if he doesn't let go off Hartley in the next seconds.

 

“What?” The guy says. “Who do you think you are?”

 

Cisco steps forward, yanking Hartley closer to him, and Hartley breathes out a, “Cisco,” like he just remembered again how to speak.

 

“Fine. Whatever,” The guy says and disappears into the crowd.

 

Hartley barely notices it, he is so caught by the way Cisco looks at him. And god, he can't remember how he could go so long without it, now that he can see him again, and feel his hand on his arm and get just a hint of his scent.

 

Cisco sighs, and he looks tired now, more hurt than angry. “What are you doing, Hartley?” It comes out without any resentment, just mild confusion.

 

“What are you doing here?” Hartley asks and his tongue trips over the words, the alcohol making it hard to think straight.

 

“Caitlin called me,” Cisco says. “She said you looked even more gloomy than usual.”

 

It still doesn't explain why Cisco is here, keeping him from getting into another regrettable hook-up and looking at him like he means something by it. “Why do you care?” Hartley asks, because his last defense is apparently still being an asshole.

 

Cisco considers him for a moment, brows knitting together like Hartley is asking the dumbest shit he ever heard, and then he says, “Because I love you.”

 

Hartley wants to laugh, wants to say, no, you got it wrong. I'm in love with you. Always running behind you like a fucking dog because you haven't kicked me yet. And then there is a sudden and sharp hope that hurts more than every time Cisco hasn't said it, hurts more than all the times he has only implied it and Hartley could rationalize it away. Hartley is swaying on his feet, maybe he is imagining this happening, maybe he got so drunk he completely lost it.

 

“Does Harrison know that?” Hartley asks, bitterness rising in him, making him think, he doesn't mean it, he can't mean it.

 

But Cisco just says quietly, “Yes.” And then he grabs onto Hartley's arms, maybe he is swaying too much, and he adds, “I love you differently than him. But not more or less. Just different. And - - a lot.”

 

Hartley stares on the floor. Tries to catch a clear thought but there is none, and his heart is bursting at the seams. Cisco says his name a couple of times but he can't look at him.

 

“Do you want to come home?” Cisco asks and Hartley nods.

 

The drive does its best to sober Hartley up, but he still feels funny when he walks into the house after Cisco. Harrison gets up from the couch when he sees them come in and then he is by their side, stretching out his long arms around them. Hartley lets himself be pulled against Harrison's chest, feels Cisco next to him and he holds onto them for dear life. There is a lump in his throat and he keeps thinking, that shithead, got there before me again.

 

After a while they shuffle Hartley to the couch, and Hartley lets himself be manhandled because he is still not sure how well his legs are working at the moment. Harrison sits next to him, a warm, solid presence, and Cisco kneels down in front of him, clutching Hartley's hands in his own. Hartley knows that he is breathing heavily, that he is this short of crying, but he doesn't even know where to start to hold himself together.

 

They are waiting patiently for him, Cisco kisses his hands from time to time, and after a while Hartley trusts himself to speak. “What do you want from me?” He croaks out.

 

Cisco smiles though he looks like he is about to cry, too. “We just want you here,” He says. “In whatever way you want to.”

 

Hartley can't keep it inside anymore, it's too late now anyway, their careful balance ruined. He cups Cisco cheeks in his hands and says it because he needs to know, says, “I love you,” and he never meant anything more.

 

Cisco smiles even more and rises on his knees and kisses him, hard and urgent. Hartley throws his arms around his neck, and he can't believe this is happening. He said it and no one is telling him no, no one is kicking him out. Instead Cisco is about to climb into his lap and Harrison is carding his fingers through his hair like he wants to say, well done.

 

When they pull apart it's Cisco's turn to take Hartley's face between his hands and he looks at him, searches his eyes, doesn't say anything and everything at once. It's hard to look away from that but Hartley has to, has to check because he still can't believe it. Harrison has that tiny smile on his face that means he is content, but Hartley still has to ask. “Is this okay?”

 

Harrison huffs out a breath. “I'm not so insecure to feel threatened.” He leans toward Hartley and kisses him on the neck. “I want you here, too,” He whispers next to Hartley's ear.

 

Cisco is beaming so hard it looks like it must be hurting him. He looks back and forth between them and then he is crying and Hartley and Harrison both instinctively grab him and pull him into an embrace between them.

 

“Let's talk about the rest tomorrow,” Harrison says, as he strokes over Cisco's back.

 

Hartley thinks that is a great idea because if has to say or hear another thing he thinks he is going to explode. So he only has to push his face against Cisco's neck and breathe and that seems like a manageable thing to do right now. Cisco has his hands around Hartley's back, fingers dug in deep, and Hartley would be hard pressed to admit it but this might be the best thing, how Cisco holds him so tight as if he'd never let him go again.

 

“Well, have fun with your back pain tomorrow,” Harrison says and extracts himself from them. “I'm sleeping in the bed.”

 

Cisco murmurs a, “Shut up, asshole,” and doesn't let go of Hartley.

 


End file.
